When the Gods forged Creation they imbued everything with a spirit of its own, a soul so to speak. The trees, the bushes, serpents and birds, everything was imbued with a soul. Even the very earth and the mountains got spirits of their own, as did the winds, the rain and the storms.

An enormous Angoath was holding a young recruit in his hands, his body broken and blood seeping freely from between the cracks of his banded armour. The dead legionary's head lolled unnaturally; obviously the neck had been crushed. It was amazing how fast these creatures could move and suddenly it lowered its head and charged headlong towards me, no doubt intending to skewer me on that sharp, spiky ridge. All around me I glimpsed similar scenes. The Angoath were washing over us like a wave of black silver, their claws rending us apart, their teeth chewing into our armour.